


Ten years gone

by Iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Parental Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester is a Good Bro, Season 1, Self-Harm, there will eventually be comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness/pseuds/Iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness
Summary: Maybe, Dean began to think, there was good reason that everyone had left him. That he was the problem. And there were very few solutions to that.Or, Dean has been struggling with the weight of hunting for a long time, and has long since learnt to cope with it, but Sam finding out about his unhealthy mental state throws a spanner in the works
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 32
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lads, it's me again! it's certainly been a while since i last sat down and actually wrote something, but this has been on my mind for a while and i figured that i might as well put it out there since i've started rewatching the series. The title is based on a Led Zeplin song which i am obsessed with
> 
> please, as always, be really mindful of the tags and dont read it if you think this isn't something you can handle.

Dean has been damaged goods for far longer than he cares to remember, and sure, for a long time, it didn’t matter. Sam had left him to go to university. Of course, Dean was glad that Sam didn’t have to put up with their way of life anymore; he couldn’t bear the thought that, had he stayed, he would be headed for an inevitable early grave. But that didn’t stop the sting of betrayal and jealousy that ran through him when he thought of his baby brother’s new life.

And then John had also left. Not that it was anything new. But the fact that he had dropped all contact with Dean in order to go it alone had been painful none the less; he couldn’t help thinking that the real reason his father left was because he was too much of a disappointment to be around. John had certainly reminded him of that often enough when they were younger. Dean was always the failure. The one who hadn’t kept Sam up to date with training while John was away hunting; who hadn’t done well in school; who couldn’t hustle enough money to feed his baby brother when the money ran out and John still wasn’t back.

Maybe, Dean began to think, there was good reason that everyone had left him. That he was the problem. And there were very few solutions to that.

The ways he started coping with his inadequacies began young. The first time he’d gotten black out drunk, he was 15; Sammy was complaining he was hungry, so Dean gave him all the food they had, leaving none for himself. Instead, once he had ushered Sam up to bed, he had filled the empty void in his stomach with beer. The dizzying sensation made it easier to cope with the crushing weight of responsibility he had on his shoulders and somehow allowed him to forget the void that seemed to be leeching sadness into his whole being these days.

Soon, drinking became a frequent occurrence.

Other ways to cope crept in soon after. If Dean was being honest, which he rarely was these days, he didn’t remember the first time he hurt himself on purpose. He didn’t even remember _why_ it happened. But it did.

The closest thing he has to a _first time_ was around a year after the drinking began; looking back, it certainly wasn’t the first time. Not even close, judging by his practiced movements, but it was the best he had to blame for his now regular habit. Sam had come home from school with a black eye and a sorry tale about a bully. Dean had done his best to cheer him up; took him to the 7/11 for sweets, told him they would be leaving as soon as John wrapped his current case up and came to collect them; he even made the usual threats to beat the guy up for his brother. Thankfully, his efforts had worked. That is, until they arrived back at the motel and were greeted with the sight of the impala. Dean should have known then that it would be more trouble than it was worth to see John now, before he’d been out to a few bars, but Sam was cold, so he pressed on.

Everything had gone to shit. John had screamed at Sammy for not fighting back well enough, for slacking on his training. Sam had yelled back. Dean had tried to intervene, resulting in Sam getting mad that he was being babied, and storming off, leaving John to vent his violence on him instead.

After, Dean had ventured into his and Sam’s shared bedroom. Sam was still seething. Dean didn’t fully remember the conversation they’d had that day, but he knew damn well how it had ended. _You’re a terrible big brother,_ Sam had shot venomously, _I wish I had a different family._

And sure, how many times had Dean thought of their mother and wished that she was still around; wished for a different life? Probably more than he could count. But he _always_ included Sam in that wish too.

Dean had fled quickly to the shitty motel bathroom, barely glanced at the fresh bruises on his face while he wrenched his shirt over his head, picked up the knife that he had hidden for an occasion just such as this. And the rest was history.

Still, ten years on, nothing had changed. Dean still was the worst big brother; he’d dragged Sammy back into this life, into danger. The death of his girlfriend, Jessica, had burned all ties with his new life. There was only hunting now.

And Dean was in the exact same position all over again; acting as broker between his brother and his father, having to find food and a place to stay, trying desperately to look after his baby brother when he couldn’t even look after himself.

Having Sam with him meant that he couldn’t end _every_ night black out drunk, but that didn’t stop him trying more days than not. It also meant that his ultimate escape plan – the one where he left this world just as violently as he had lived in it – would be a lot harder to pull off. Dean could hardly let some lucky bastard have the pleasure of killing him while Sam watched, no matter how much he may want it.

In the few months since their reunion, Dean had learnt to hide every fucked up part of himself just as carefully as he had done when they were kids. He now only hurt himself in their shitty motel bathroom, and only on his thighs, where no one that mattered would ever see. Where Sam would never see.

Tonight was one of those nights; it had been a hard hunt, but nothing particularly terrible had gone wrong. Sometimes the job just took all the energy he had to give, and the numbness it left behind was overwhelming. Dean had bagsied the first shower, slipping a small knife into his pocket as he did so; what Sam didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him, he began dragging his grubby shirt over his head, wincing as the movement pulled on his tight muscles. Once his clothes were off, he paused to study his scars. Some were from the job; you didn’t survive as long as he had in the business without your fair share of close calls. It was clear, however, which were caused by monsters and which Dean had put there himself. He let out a weary sigh. Most of the time, he wished he had never started. But some nights, like tonight, it was a means to an end – something necessary to stop the exhaustion from permeating so bone deep that he began contemplating his gun a little too seriously.

Dean sat on the edge of the bath, and took a deep breath before he dragged the knife over his thigh. It was a long time before the pain pushed past the dull, thumping panic in his veins and swept away the nauseating itch under his skin.

By the time he was present enough to regain control, he had made six sickening new cuts. They were deep enough that he already knew that they would add to his collection of angry raised scars. He sighed, running a hand over his face.

Suddenly, Sam knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Dude, hurry up,’ he sounded annoyed, ‘you’ve been in there for almost an hour and you haven’t even showered. Does it really take that long to shit?’ Dean now realised his mistake – he’d forgotten to turn on the shower. It was far easier to let his brother think that he had hour long showers for the hell of it than it was to find an explanation for his current situation.

All words left him. He knew Sam wanted an answer but, in his current state of mind, nothing was forthcoming.

‘Dean?’ Sam asked, voice more concerned.

John had always taught them to never lock the bathroom door. It was for safety; just in case some monster tried to gank them in the shower. If Dean got up now and locked it, Sam would know something was _really wrong_. But if he didn’t?

‘I’m coming in.’

There was no time to react. The strangled _no!_ Dean tried to yell died on his lips as the door swung open, and he was left to face his baby brother.

For a split second, Sam stood in the doorway, taking in the scene; the mess of clothes on the floor, his brothers shocked face and expressionless eyes, the blood dripping from his thigh onto the floor. Then his eyes fell on the knife in his brother’s hand – there was a flicker of understanding before his expression became carefully guarded.

_‘Dean,’_ Sam said again, as if it was the only thing he knew how to say anymore. All he could think of was how long Dean had been hunting alone; how often had he come back from a hunt and sat in a shitty bathroom like this, without help, bleeding? How bad had it gotten? God, the amount of times Dean could have allowed his reactions to be a little slower and let everything be over without Sam even knowing; just the thought made Sam shudder.

Dean felt like he was about to be sick. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. It felt like nothing would ever be the same again; there was only _before_ and _after_. Sam would never look at him the same again. Not now that he knew that Dean was _weak_. If anyone else had found him, he wouldn’t have cared – no one gave a shit about him – but he cared about Sammy. Not even the years that Sam had left him for college had dimmed his fierce protective instinct, and this situation was the exact opposite to what he had been aiming for.

The brothers remained staring at each other for what felt like an eternity.

‘Dean, I –’

The spell was broken, and Dean had no intention of sticking around to hear what his brother had to say.

He rose quickly, trying to block out Sam’s desperate pleas to _stay still_ and _wait while he got the first aid kit_. But Dean couldn’t bring himself to do it; couldn’t let himself to allow his baby brother see how truly broken he was. Instead, he dragged his grime covered clothes back on and pushed past Sam without a second glance, only pausing to grab the keys to the impala before heading out into the night.

Sam had chased after him, begged him to stay and talk, but nothing he said could make Dean stop running. Besides, Sam was the one who had _chick flick moments_ , not Dean; he made sure to keep everything bottled up. It was better that way.

He drove for hours, keeping his music loud enough to drown out any thoughts he might have.

Eventually, when the sky began to lighten once again, Dean returned to the motel.

He knew that returning would be hell; was well aware of the fact that Sam would not allow this to be forgotten, but his big brother complex also meant that he couldn’t leave Sam alone for long. Not now that he was back in the business; family was all they had anymore. Besides, in the past month, Dean had felt far less alone than he had done since Sam had left for college. He knew he couldn’t throw that away just yet.

But that didn’t mean he was about to talk about his damn feelings.

Dean crept into the motel room as quietly as he could, praying to any being out there that Sam would be asleep.

‘Hey,’ Sam said, sitting up a little straighter on one of the beds. Dean cursed. There was an awkward pause. ‘Dean, I know –I mean, _what the hell_ – I know you don’t like talking but –’ He tried again, ‘how longs this been going on?’

‘It’s not something you need to trouble yourself with Sammy.’

Sam sighed and looked away. Dean could see the muscles in his jaw ticking from across the room; the knowledge that he had caused his brother any kind of stress was gut wrenching. He didn’t _deserve_ for Sam to worry about him. ‘We’re going to Bobby’s,’ Sam said eventually.

There was a short pause. ‘You called Bobby?’

‘Yes, Dean. What was I supposed to do? You just left. I had no idea whether you were gonna – you were hurt – I didn’t know what to do. So I yes, I asked Bobby for help.’

‘Did you call dad?’ Dean asked hollowly.

‘No.’

‘Good. Don’t you dare tell him.’

‘I won’t. Bobby’s expecting us by nightfall, so we better get going. Is there anything you need before we go?’ Sam rose, grabbing their already packed bags and heading for the door, leaving Dean to stand in shock, wondering what the hell just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive had been awkward. Dean had insisted on driving the whole way. Any time that Sam asked if he was okay, _I’m fine_ was his only response.

Once they arrived, Bobby had made sure they were fed and then sent them straight to bed, telling them that they both looked like hell and that there would be plenty of time to talk in the morning.

As soon as it was light, Dean crept outside, steeling away to the safety of the workshop to tinker with his Baby. Of course, he only did it because she had been idling a little fast recently. It had nothing to do with the anxiety in his stomach about what he was meant to say to Sam and Bobby.

Inside, they ate in relative silence, both lost in thought while they sipped their coffee.

‘I didn’t realise it was getting bad again,’ Bobby said eventually, studying Sam’s hunched form and pinched expression.

Sam’s eyes snapped up, staring wildly at him. ‘You –’ he began hoarsely, ‘you knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me?’ There was a slight pause, _‘how didn’t I notice?’_

‘Sam, he didn’t want you to know.’

‘But I should have. I should have seen –’

‘Nope. You don’t get to do that. He didn’t want you to see that he was hurting – you know how he is with his major big brother complex. It’s not your fault that you didn’t notice. What with everything that’s been happening with you, I’m not surprised that you didn’t. But we have to work out what to do now. Last time –’

‘Did he tell you?’

‘No, I found him.’

Sam sat back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had so many questions and he wasn’t even sure where to begin to sort through them.

‘It happened just after you left for college,’ Bobby said, eyes going misty, as if he were reliving the moment. ‘He came to stay here for a while. Your father was hunting somewhere in Minnesota – I don’t remember what – but Dean had gotten into a pretty close scrape with some ghoul or something on their last hunt, so John dropped him off here before he left.’

Bobby paused eyeing Sam carefully before he continued. ‘I don’t think it was an accident that whatever they were hunting got a good look in on him that day, Sammy.’

A stone settled in Sam’s gut. ‘What happened?’

‘I found him one night. We’d been researching for your father’s case. It was late, so I sent him to bed.’ Bobby readjusted his cap, making it harder for Sam to see his expression. ‘About half an hour later, I heard a thump upstairs. ‘Course, you know how it goes, I thought there was something in the house with us, went up all guns blazing. But when I got to the bathroom, I just found Dean there.’ There was a long pause. ‘He was hurt pretty bad, Sam, had all his arm cut up. Lost a lot of blood too. He was barely conscious when I found him. It took me days to get him to open up, but eventually, he told me what was wearing him down.’

Sam lent forwards in his seat and held his breath.

‘Now, I think you have a right to hear it from your brother – don’t reckon it’s for me to tell. But Sam, this way of life is wearing him down too. When you went to college and lost touch, I think part of Dean’s fight left for a while. I’m not saying you were wrong to go. God knows Dean and I were both glad to see you happy, but it hit him hard. I think that’s part of the reason he began to hunt on his own instead of with your father.’

‘What do I – what do we do, Bobby? He won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to help him.’

‘Well,’ Bobby paused, thinking. ‘First, I think we gotta talk to him and find out what’s going on in that head of his. Then – well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.’ He picked up his mug and headed for the sink. ‘Now, I know you want to know what’s going on with him – and the two of you definitely need to have a talk – but for now, let me go and speak to him. We’ve got to take this one step at a time, Sam.’

Sam sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah. Okay, Bobby. Just – just please –’ He didn’t know how to finish; _just please look after him? Just please let him know I care?_ Everything he could come up with seemed to only cheapen what he was feeling. Bobby just nodded and squeezed his shoulder as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! hope you enjoyed! please let me know what you think! it definitely makes me write faster! I promise there'll be more comfort soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lads, i'm back already with another chapter!
> 
> I just wanted to pop in and clarify that i do not in any way condone self harm as a coping mechanism. Writing this is for sure therapy for me, and so the theme does touch on it a lot, but its not something that anyone should think is a good thing, especially not from any of my content
> 
> As always, please be mindful of the tags and let me know what you think!

Dean sat on his tool box, shorts hitched up so that he could see the patchwork of white and pink scars on this thighs.

Some he’d put there out of frustration at himself from a hunt gone bad; others were from the nights when his world came crashing down and every bottled up emotion he’d ever had seemed to come pouring out of him at once. And then there were others – the ones that he regretted most – which he had only put there because it was the only way to dull the nauseating itch that crawled under his skin. Those were the times that scared Dean most; they told him that he was no longer in control of his habit. Whether he ever had been in control was another question entirely. Deep down, no matter how much he told himself he could stop whenever he wanted, he knew that wasn’t the case.

‘Those look – methodical.’ Bobby said quietly, making Dean jump. He leapt up from his seat, whipping his gun out from where he kept it in the back of his jeans. Bobby merely shoved his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows at Dean’s reaction.

He lowered his gun, sitting back down and placing it beside him. ‘Sorry,’ he breathed. Sneaking up on Dean was a feat; normally, he was so alert that nothing passed him by – hell, even asleep, his body was always aware of the slightest hint of danger – but when it came to thinking about his _habit_ , he could be zoned out for hours without any idea of what was happening around him. _God, he wished it would stop_.

Bobby eyed him, sitting opposite. ‘Thought maybe after last time you’d have come to me when things got bad again.’

‘ _Bobby,_ ’ Dean said, almost pleading him to stop.

‘You remember you promised me that you’d talk, right.’

‘Yessir,’ he replied hoarsely.

‘I’ll have none of that _sir_ business your father expects, thank you very much. I’m just bobby to you.’

There was a pause.

‘Well, what are you waiting for? Talk, Dean.’

‘Bobby, I – I’m –’

‘Fine. Yeah. You sure look like you are. Every other _fine_ person does that to themselves.’ Bobby snapped, gesturing to Dean’s legs.

Dean flinched, pulling at the hem of his shorts in a futile attempt to feel less exposed despite the fact that none of his scars were showing. ‘I just –’ he began, ‘sometimes it just – _this job, man_ – and now Sam’s back? Do you know how long he fought to get out of this life and it – it’s not right.’

‘I know son. But what about you?’

‘ _What about me?_ ’ Dean asked, confused.

‘What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours to make you think this is a good solution? And don’t say you’re just worried about Sam. By the looks of things, you were doing this long before he came back. In fact, I’m not sure you ever stopped.’

‘I’m sorry Bobby,’ Dean said, voice scratchy with emotion. ‘I tried, I really did, but – it was too much.’

‘What was?’

Dean shook his head. ‘Did Sam ever tell you what happened with our old house?’

‘I know you did a job with a poltergeist there. That your mum sacrificed herself to save you both.’

‘To save Sam,’ Dean corrected.

‘What?’

‘Sam was the one that was trapped, not me. And Mum she – when she appeared, she – she looked at me for a minute, and then she went over to Sammy, and she apologised to him.’ Dean shook his head and scrubbed an oily hand over his face, spreading dark smears across his cheeks.

It took a moment for Bobby to work out what Dean wasn’t saying, but when he did, his heart broke a little. ‘Why would you think that she wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if it was only you in that house?’

‘Look, I know, alright. I know that Sammy is the better one of the two of us. Everyone likes him more – I get it. And I understand why – he’s just got that _way_ with people, right? Everyone wants to talk to him without him even trying. I just – _I just wish people wouldn’t leave me when they realised I’m not worth their time._ ’

And there it was; finally out in the open. The one thing that Dean was truly afraid of: being left alone.

Bobby sat back a little. He knew Dean had _issues_ with people leaving, but he never thought they ran so deep. ‘I haven’t left.’ He pointed out. ‘And Sam –’

‘Sam’s left plenty, Bobby.’ Dean grit out. He couldn’t help thinking about that night on the highway; how Sam had just grabbed his things. He’d been more willing to hitch hike through the night than spend another minute with Dean. And that was the real kicker – the one thing that he couldn’t get out of his head.

‘Sam may have strayed from the path your father set out for you, but he always comes back.’

‘Does he?’

‘He’s here now, isn’t he? Dean, he wants to help you so badly that he’s spent every spare minute he’s got researching how to help you. He was a state when he phoned me – took me a good twenty minutes to calm him down enough to actually find out what happened.’

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. ‘I wish he didn’t have to know about this.’ He murmured.

‘Sam wants to help.’

‘He shouldn’t even know.’ Dean grit out, anger boiling in his stomach.

‘ _Dean._ ’ Bobby’s soft tone just made him madder. He rose, no longer able to suppress the need to move. ‘If Sam had been self harming, you’d want to know, right?’

‘Has he been?’ Dean asked, halting his pacing to stare at Bobby, eyes full of panic.

‘No. But if you found out he had, you would want to help?’

‘Damn it, ‘course I would.’

‘Then why wont you let him help you?’

He turned and gave his toolbox a violent kick, no longer able to look at Bobby. ‘ _It’s not the same._ ’

‘Dean Winchester, cut the self-righteous bullshit right now. Your brother and I want to help you. We’re not going anywhere, so get used to it. Now, I don’t know what’s been going on with you – and I know for sure that what you’ve said isn’t the only reason that you’re doing this – but you’ve been dealing with it alone for far too long. You’ve just gotta trust us.’

‘I do, but Bobby –’

‘Then that’s enough for now.’ He said, standing. ‘Let’s take this one step at a time. First, you need some lunch. And then, I think you and Sam need to have a proper conversation.’ 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i suddenly got inspiration to write this, and it just sort of materialised over the past two days
> 
> As always, please be mindful of the tags and dont read if youre not feeling up to it!
> 
> I hope you like it, let me know what you think if youd like :)

Over lunch, all Dean could think about was how Bobby had stopped him spilling his guts about all his fears. Of course, he was glad. No one needed to truly _know_ him like that. It was too dangerous – after all, they would just leave eventually anyway.

The cheerful family printed on the side of the cereal packet in front of him seemed to mock him with their smiles (Sam had started to bitch that _cereal wasn’t a proper lunch option_ , but Dean truly didn’t have the energy to make a sandwich, so he poured it in his bowl anyway). The sound of Bobby quietly slicing bread and rummaging in the fridge was the only noise in the kitchen.

Dean ate silently, trying desperately to choke down his dry cheerio’s so he could excuse himself and go back to tinkering with Baby before anyone could corner him again. Sam, sitting opposite, kept giving Dean sad looks when he thought he wouldn’t notice.

_This was exactly why he didn’t want anyone to know_. Bobby was only willing to listen to Dean’s issues in tiny dribs and drabs – _which who could blame him,_ Dean reasoned – but it meant that each conversation felt awkward and clunky because he was stopped every time he wanted to open up a little more. It hadn’t been like that the first time he had opened up to him; Bobby had sat for _hours_ listening to Dean ramble, only interrupting to clarify things. This morning, however, he put the conversation on pause practically as soon as it had started.

If Dean was being reasonable, he could convince himself that the reason Bobby had stopped him so quickly was that he wanted Sam to be the one that could listen to Dean for hours this time. Not because he didn’t care – in fact, Bobby would do anything to make his boys better – but because Sam deserved to hear it first hand.

What was worse than Bobby’s insistence to take things slow was the way that Sam was now openly staring at his brother, brow furrowed, as if he was looking at a bunch of particularly odd crime scenes and trying to figure out the connections between them, and which creature they were going to have to kill. It was unnerving. It made Dean’s skin crawl, and he knew that if it continued, he’d have to try and sneak away to _fix it_ before it drove him completely mad.

After a tense and awkward lunch, populated mostly by Bobby throwing conversation topics wildly into the room in the hopes that either brother would answer (with little success), he rose from the table and announced that he would be going on a food run.

This seemed to panic Sam, but to Dean it was a relief that he could finally go out back and work in peace; at least mechanics couldn’t reject him for how shitty he felt all the time.

While Sam had cornered Bobby ( _clearly begging not to be left alone with me_ , Dean thought bitterly), Dean snuck out the back door and made his way to the workshop.

A few minutes later, Dean glanced up at the sound of the back door closing again, and saw Sam making his way over, looking nervous.

‘Hey,’ said Sam, handing over one of the two beers he’d bought with him as a peace offering.

‘It’s a little early for you to be drinking isn’t it?’ Dean questioned, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Of course, he wasn’t _opposed_ to drinking before dinner, but he knew that his brother tended to save beers for after taxing hunts and for drinking under the stars rather than under the baking sun.

Sam just shrugged and took a swig from his bottle. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Dean said tensely. ‘Just peachy.’

‘Uh huh, and your leg -?’

‘Is also fine.’

‘Sure. I – ’ Sam shifted slightly. ‘Dean, I wish you’d talk to me. I know things haven’t always been perfect between us, but come on man, its _us_ , nothing you say will make me think any less of you. I just want to help. God knows you’ve looked after me enough times. Please, let me return the favour?’

‘Alright,’ Dean said, scrubbing a hand through his hair and drinking a mouthful of beer. He already wished he had more alcohol in his system to deal with this conversation. ‘I owe you an explanation. But you know I’m no good at these damn chick flick moments – it might not come out the way it’s meant to the first time so just – just bear with me okay?’

‘I can do that.’

‘So, uh, what do you want to know?’

‘When did this start?’

Maybe Dean had been naive to not expect Sam to ask that, but it still caught him off guard. ‘Before Stanford.’ He breathed. ‘When we were teens. It just helped, I guess.’

‘Helped what?’

‘I don’t know how much you remember, Sam, but back then – when Dad would leave us to hunt – things weren’t always easy. Money was tight, training was tough. I spent a lot of time worrying about you – ’

‘Dean, I – ’

‘Nope. Don’t even apologise Sammy. I’m not blamin’ you. I’m just telling you how it was, alright?’ Dean shifted, fiddling with the bottle in his hand. ‘I had a lot to worry about. Just like you did. Except that you tried to change that by getting out of the life, going to Stanford, all that. I knew I could never do that so I – _coped_.’

‘You coped by doing this?’ Sam asked, frown deepening as his eyes darted back to the scars he now knew were under his brother’s shorts.

Dean shrugged. ‘I guess. Look – I didn’t know what I was doing. I had absolutely _no clue_ how to make things better. So excuse me if the way I got through it wasn’t what you were expecting. I know you and Dad never saw eye to eye, but he wasn’t always a great father to me either. Sometimes – sometimes I just needed something that I was in control of. Obviously, I fucked that too.’

Sam looked taken aback. ‘Dean, I never knew.’

‘Yeah, well, I made sure you didn’t find out most of it. That’s what big brothers do.’ There was a hint of a smile on his face when he glanced over at Sam. Sure, sometimes the pressure to keep his precious Sam safe was soul crushing, but that didn’t stop him being achingly proud to be his big brother.

‘Dean, I – I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry we didn’t stay in touch.’

‘You’re sorry _you_ didn’t stay in touch.’ Dean corrected, voice hollow once more. ‘I called you once a month without fail. Never got any answer.’

All Sam could think about now was what Bobby had said about the ghost attack that probably wasn’t an accident; he could have _lost Dean completely_ , never had the chance to say goodbye. ‘I’m so fucking sorry, Dean. I wish I could go back and change that. I really do. I thought a clean break was what we all needed – especially after Dad said to leave and not come back. I’m sorry I ignored you.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Dean glanced away, taking a large mouthful of lukewarm beer as he did so.

Sam could see the shutters being dragged up. He was losing Dean, even as they sat opposite each other. ‘What happened the other day to make you hurt yourself?’ He blurted desperately.

The surprise seemed to lower some of Dean’s defences enough to force an answer out of him. ‘I was just exhausted Sammy, and not just in a physical way. I hate to say it – because _god, it scares me_ – but it was what I needed to be able to rest easy that night.’

‘So – it’s at the point where it’s an addiction?’ Sam asked.

‘Yeah,’ Dean said hoarsely, ‘yeah. I haven’t been fully in control of it for a long time. Maybe not since you left for college.’

‘Bobby said he had tried to help you?’

‘He did – tried damn hard too. But when Dad came back for me, he refused to listen to Bobby when he told him I still needed more time to get better. Obviously, he didn’t tell Dad the real reason. And on the road, things were a lot harder to deal with. I did well for a couple of months. But then things started to slip and before I knew it, I was back where I started and too embarrassed to tell Bobby about it. It wasn’t long after that me and you started hunting together again, and I had more important things to worry about than a few harmless cuts.’

‘This is important too, Dean. _You’re important too._ And these aren’t just harmless cuts. What would you have done if they got infected? Or if you’d nicked a vein and I didn’t know? You could have been bleeding out and I would be merrily out getting us burgers.’

There was a heavy silence while Sam’s words soaked in. Dean picked at the label of the bottle in his hand, relishing the smooth glide of paper coming away from glass. ‘I wouldn’t have let that happen.’ He said quietly, though he wasn’t sure it was quite true.

Sam seemed not to believe him either. ‘I thought you said you weren’t in control anymore? How could you know you wouldn’t accidentally push too far?’

‘ _Because._ ’ Dean said petulantly, as if this was an argument from their childhood where _because I say so_ still held any weight in settling things.

Sam snorted, leaning back and eyeing his brother carefully. ‘Do you want help?’

And there it was. The real kicker. The one part that Dean never even really allowed himself to think about. The truth was, he didn’t know if he _could_ get better, even if he wanted to. ‘Yes.’ He said roughly before he could even really think about it.

‘Good, Dean. That’s really good.’

Some of the tension seemed to ebb away from the brothers. It no longer felt like the moment could fragment at any second, and Sam seemed to let out a breath and relax his shoulders a little for the first time in days.

‘But Sammy, I – I’m not sure I can – I mean, last time, I couldn’t stick to it. I tried for a long time, but things never really stuck.’

Sam seemed to think for a long time, sloshing the contents of his beer bottle back and forth in a slow, hypnotising rhythm. ‘You know, Dean, I had a friend at college that had a lot of therapy. We used to talk sometimes about what his therapist said to him, and one time he told me that relapse is not the exception: it’s the rule. And I know that sucks – I really do.’ He glanced back to his brother, seeming desperate to choose his words carefully to get across his full meaning. ‘Just because you slip up, doesn’t mean you’re doomed to feel this way forever. It doesn’t mean Bobby and I would stop trying to help you. This won’t be like last time because you won’t be alone this time.’

Dean sighed, finishing the last of his beer in one large mouthful. ‘Okay,’ he said, picking up a spanner, ‘alright. I’ll – I’ll try. But I ain’t promising anything.’ _I’m too broken for this not to be a permanent part of me_ , Dean thought to himself, leaning back over Baby’s engine.

‘That’s all I’m asking. Please talk to one of us when you feel like you want to hurt yourself again.’

Sam didn’t leave immediately. He stayed, chatting to his brother about menial things and passing him tools like they used to when they were kids. While the dull pain in Dean’s chest had eased a little for the first time since Sam had found out about his little habit, the aching, scraping itch under his skin did not let up. Dean wondered whether his paper-thin resolve would hold long enough to ask for help when he inevitably needed it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this hasnt been updated in a while! i was at a work placement which was /not fun/ and had no wifi, but it meant that i had a little time to write! so i hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> hopefully updates will be quicker now as i have a lot of ideas as well as some of the next chapter already written :)
> 
> as always, please be aware of the tags and stay safe <3

Dean was anxious and quick to argue for the rest of the day. He kept replaying his conversation with Sam over and over in his head. He wished he hadn’t said he needed help. Not only did he worry that his brother thought he was weak, but now he also had to put some real effort into getting better, and he truly didn’t know if he could do that.

Sure, he wanted to stop; he always intended to. _This is the last time I’ll do this_ , he would tell himself. He always meant it just as much the next time too.

It was like being a teenager again, holed up at Bobby’s while their dad went off to save the world. He had that same familiar itch to find a hunt he could handle and hit the road just to prove to everyone that he still could.

When Bobby had returned home, Dean had grumbled the entire time that he helped put the groceries away. Then hid himself away in his room, desperate to become invisible.

Of course, Sam and Bobby would never make it that easy for him. Within half an hour of disappearing, Bobby came to find him to help with some research for a case one of his buddies was doing. After that, dinner needed to be cooked. Then Sam dragged him out on a run.

The entire evening was filled with doing little tasks that served not only to keep Dean busy and within sight of the other two, but also to royally hack him off.

By the time Dean stumbled into bed, he was exhausted, but the aching need to hurt still echoed under his skin and he knew that, before long, there would be a time where he would have to sate it.

The thing was, if Dean were left alone in a room with his tools long enough, eventually he would use them. It was as simple as that. While Sam and Bobby could try their best to make sure that it didn’t happen, eventually they would have to let him have more than five minutes of privacy and he certainly wouldn’t be stuck for choice of what to use when the moment finally arrived. The entire house was practically a munitions store, and – as much as Sam had argued for it – they could hardly lock away all their sharp objects. In this line of work, the ability to lay a hand on a knife or a gun immediately was the difference between life and death.

Unfortunately, that same ability to have easy access to weapons could also be the difference between life and death for someone who was _too eager to punish themselves_ , as he put it.

‘What’s the chance of something getting in here without us knowing about it, though?’ Sam had argued.

‘You know we’ve always got to be on our guard, Sam,’ Bobby sighed, readjusting his hat to avoid having to look either brother in the eye. ‘Not protecting ourselves would be a death sentence in itself. Hell, just last year we lost my buddy Ray – you remember him right? Short, the reddest hair you ever saw; damn, he didn’t deserve what he got, poor bastard. Some demon got him when he was on holiday up in Nevada. Reckon he’d still be with us if he’d at least taken his damn gun with him.’

‘Exactly!’ Dean said, filled with gratitude towards Bobby. ‘I’ve been fine up until now hunting on my own, why should we suddenly change that now?’

‘I ain’t saying I’m happy about the situation. I’m just saying we’ve gotta be practical here.’

‘Come on Bobby, how are we meant to keep him safe when there are guns and knives _everywhere?_ ’

‘I’m _right here_ , dude. Quit talking about me like I’m some kid who doesn’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘Cool it, both of you.’ Bobby said, looking thoughtful. ‘Alright. Sam, we can’t hide everything away – no, just listen for a minute – we can’t do that. Not only is it unsafe, given our line of work, but Dean also needs to learn to control himself around these things. He’s a hunter, Sam, at some point, he’s gonna have to pick up a gun again. And Dean, you’re going to have to learn to have a little patience. We’re trying to help you, and it’s not always going to be what you want. But Sam and I are doing our best. We’ll compromise. The weapons stay – ’ ( _thank god_ , Dean had muttered, although he was unsure whether he was glad he would be able to defend himself, or whether he was just relieved that he could still destroy himself when he wanted to) ‘ – _but_ ,’ Bobby said, ‘you’re going to have to have a bit more supervision Dean.’

The argument had continued in circles for hours, and only served to make Dean even more secretive about the need to hurt that was slowly taking power over his life once more. The desperation for control was building steadily by the day.

He secretly began to look for a case nearby so he could sneak off for a little while.

Not long after, a simple salt-and-burn cropped up a couple of towns over. Something akin to pride swelled in his chest when he imagined his triumphant return to Bobby’s after the hunt; surely it would prove that he was well enough to continue working if nothing else. If he could still gank some poor sucker of a ghost without topping himself in the process, that would show them that he was safe to be around their collection of weapons; it would mean they would finally let up on their campaign to never let him be alone.

What Dean needed most was to not feel _weak,_ and this was, in his mind, a sure fire way to prove that he was just as strong as he had been before anyone had found out about his little habit.

And sure, a lot of the time, he’d never truly felt _strong_ himself; after all, he was just as scared and confused as every other twenty-something was. But everyone else always looked to him for a plan. It was Dean who could save people; he could seek out those things that go bump in the night and stop them from breaking up another family. He could stop another kid having to grow up like him and Sam did, right?

So, the next morning, he snuck out of the house before first light, fired up the Impala, and was on his way to his first solo hunt in months.

Before long, ZZ Top was blaring out of the stereo and he was speeding down the highway. The more miles he put between himself and the scrap yard, the clearer his mind became. By the afternoon, he had confirmed that the ghost was that of a suicide victim, who haunted people who it had known in life.

He also had 3 missed calls from Sam (all with unopened voicemails), and one from Bobby (with an accompanying text telling him to hurry up and get his ass back home).

But Dean finally felt _free_ again; the open road, helping people, the thrill of the hunt – it all culminated in masking the overwhelming lack of control that he had been drowning in at Bobby’s.

As night fell, Dean began to dig. It was backbreaking work, especially when he had to keep pausing to check for signs that the ghost had figured out what was going on; it was far easier when Sam could be his eyes and ears.

_No,_ Dean corrected, the whole damn point of this was to prove that he didn’t need anyone else to look out for him, especially not on a hunt. He could do it on his own. That’s what he’d been doing for months before Sam came back. And if John could hunt alone for all those years, Dean could surely handle a simple _ghost_ now.

Unfortunately, Dean’s predictions of this being a simple case were true, and he was speeding back down the highway not an hour later. The closer to Bobby’s he got, the more guilt seemed to tie itself in knots in his stomach. As always, he felt trapped between his family and the job, but this time, it wasn’t because of Sam; it was his own damn fault and he couldn’t see a way out that didn’t end in an early grave.

As Dean pulled into the yard, the headlights lit up two figures sat on the porch waiting for him; it made him want to punch something.

Before he had even switched off the ignition, Sam was on his feet and marching towards the car. He was angry. No doubt about that, but Dean was sure that the news of his successful hunt would cheer them all.

Sam reached the Impala just as Dean got out. Without a word, he slammed Dean against the side of the car, nose to nose with his brother. Up close, it was clear that he had been crying and his eyes were red rimmed and angry.

‘What the fuck man, what do you think you’re – ’

‘ _No, Dean._ ’ Sam growled, shaking him by the t shirt and making his back dig into the trim of the car, ‘what the fuck do you think _you’re_ doing?’

‘I – ’

‘Bobby and I were worried sick!’ His voice was slowly rising, and he was pressing more and more force on Dean’s chest every time he struggled. ‘No word from you all day. We thought you were – you could have been – ’

‘Alright Sam,’ Bobby said firmly from behind. He was stood with his hands in his pockets, wearily watching them. ‘Dean knows he made a mistake. Go in and make him some food, we’ll be right behind you.’

Sam stood frozen, the slight let up in pressure on Dean’s t shirt the only sign that he had heard Bobby at all. Dean watched him carefully, taking in the way his eyes seemed glassy and slightly empty, the angry ticking in his jawline; everything about him seemed to be poised and ready to explode at any second.

Dean had caused this. He decided he deserved whatever punishment Sam was about to inflict on him.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever.

‘Go wait inside.’ Bobby said again, his voice no more concerned than if he was telling Sam to get them a beer after a long day. It was the same phrase he used to use when he and John had a disagreement in front of Sam and Dean (usually about how they were being raised).

After a fraction of a second, the pressure on Dean’s chest let up and he was finally able to draw a proper breath. He saw what Sam was planning a fraction of a second before the punch landed square in his jaw, but he did nothing to block the blow. The punch seemed to surprise Sam more than it did Dean and Bobby.

Eyes watering in pain, Dean watched Sam hesitate, before heeding Bobby’s advice and trudging back to the house.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! 
> 
> I'm sure we all have feelings about the final episodes, I must say that i haven't watched the show in years, but it is still my emotional support series, especially the early series, which i keep going back to rewatch, hence this.
> 
> Anyway,,, i loved all the memes, they really cracked me up.

‘I’m not gonna say you didn’t deserve that, son.’ Bobby said gruffly, handing Dean a tissue to stem the nosebleed that had begun.

‘Bobby, I – ’

‘I know. You were going stir crazy here. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. I just wish you’d let us know you were alright. Hell, you should have taken one of us with you.’ Bobby shook his head. ‘I know you want independence, Dean, but this isn’t the way to go about getting it.’

‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ Dean said hollowly. ‘That’s one less ghost that can go on killing people.’

‘Dean, I’m not your father. Yes, I’m proud of you, but not only for the amount of hunts you can complete in a month – you’re worth more than your work.’ He said heading back towards the house.

Dean wanted to protest; there was an overwhelming feeling of _unfairness_ at the fact that his successful hunt was being turned into yet another reason why he was a failure.

‘I didn’t think I still needed to point this out, but your life is still worth something even if you never save anyone again. Has your father really messed you up so bad that you can’t see that?’

‘Dad wasn’t that bad.’

‘It sure seems like it.’ Bobby said darkly, ‘now, you coming inside?’

‘I’ll – I just want to get everything in order out here, give me half an hour and I’ll be in.’

‘Alright,’ Bobby said, eyeing Dean sceptically, ‘don’t be too long, now.’

Dean bobbed his head, not able to meet Bobby’s eye, another twist of guilt forming in his gut.

He took a deep breath, leaning on the boot of the car and gingerly dabbing at the quickly forming bruise on his face.

Now that the adrenaline from the hunt was wearing off, all he was left with was the familiar feeling of emptiness creeping back into his bones. _God, Dean needed to cut._ Instead, fingers shaking, he opened his voicemails.

‘ _Dean?’_ Sam’s panicked voice crackled through the speaker, _‘where are you man? Call me back.’_

_‘Alright. It’s been three hours. You better get your ass back here immediately. I swear to god Dean, if you’ve done something stupid, raise you from the dead again just to kick your ass. Call me. Now.’_

The third message began with a long silence; the only reason Dean didn’t hang up was because he could hear his brother’s distressed breathing on the other line. _‘Dean,’_ he said finally, _‘please, come home. I can’t – you just need to come back now. Please.’_

In the background, a door opened. _‘Sammy, come back inside. You’ve been out here for hours.’_ Bobby said.

The line went dead.

The panic in Sam’s voice was palpable. He hated himself for believing that this was a good idea. He let out a ragged breath, willing himself not to shed any tears; he didn’t deserve to cry. After all, it was him that had put his family through that stress, no one else. He didn’t deserve any sympathy – Sam had every right to punch him.

Somewhere behind him, he heard the screen door shut. Someone was walking towards him. ‘Not now, Bobby. I said I’d be in in a minute.’ Dean choked out without looking back.

‘You shouldn’t be out here alone, beating yourself up.’ Sam said, leaning against the car next to Dean.

‘Not when you could do it for me,’ Dean said, grinning slightly.

Sam glanced at him, eyes wide, but with the ghost of a smile on his lips, which Dean counted as a win. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘I deserved it.’

‘You did.’ He agreed.

Silence stretched, but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Finally, the tightness in Dean’s chest seemed to ease a little – maybe things were bad now, but perhaps they wouldn’t be in the future.

‘Would you – have you ever thought about, you know, _leaving?’_ Sam blurted suddenly.

‘Leaving?’ Dean asked, thoroughly confused. ‘You know I’m made for this life. It’s you who wanted out.’

Sam couldn’t look at Dean anymore, instead staring up at the dark sky, ‘I know. I meant have you ever – have you ever thought about – you know, suicide?’

And wasn’t that the real kicker. Dean may not have ever considered making a new life for himself, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t fantasised about leaving the one he had. ‘Sammy – ’ he began, unsure what to say.

‘Okay,’ he replied knowingly; Dean’s non-answer enough for him to read between the lines. ‘I just think – I mean – you’re already here, Dean,’ Sam said, looking up at the millions of stars above them in the cloudless sky and shrugging, ‘you might as well stay. Just – just consider it will you?’

‘Alright.’

‘We should head in, Bobby will be wondering where we’ve got to.’

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! i've written most of the next chapter, so hopefully you wont have to wait too long if you want to read more! 
> 
> as always, comments are always great motivation if you wanted to let me know what you think of it <3


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